


Switch

by violentdarlings



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Christian is a player, Crack, Erika is a hot mess, F/M, Female Erik, Genderfuck, Male Christine, oldfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erika and Christian meet in person for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switch

"Angel, why do you hide your face?" Christian asks bluntly, folding heavily muscled arms over his chest. "If it wasn't for you I would merely be just another stagehand humming along to Faust and getting shoes thrown at me by the others."

Hidden safely behind the mirror, Erika manages a grim half smile. "I am not so beautiful as you, Christian."

Christian glances at the looking glass to assure himself he is in fact not beautiful, but rather ruggedly handsome. Satisfied, he returns his gaze to the empty air where his tutor's voice emanates from. "It's not like you're a hag, Angel."

Erika draws in an unsteady breath. If only he knew. "I cannot bear to deceive you anymore. I am not an Angel, Christian."

Finally, the young man thinks with relief. Honestly, did she think he came down in the last shower? Angel of Music sent by his father, indeed. His father had been less than impressed with his son and had longed for a daughter, but to no avail. "Is that so, Angel? Then what shall I call you?"

He hears a shaky, gasping breath from somewhere close. "Erika," the voice gasps out. Meanwhile, behind the mirror, Erika is about to have a nervous breakdown. But Christian is steadfast.

"I suppose if you have a name, you also have a body?"

"How dare you question me!" Christian wisely decides to remain silent and sure enough, the apology comes only a few moments later. "I'm sorry, my dear. I will show myself to you if you wish."

Her mood swings really are very difficult to follow at times. Idly Christian wonders if she is on her time of the month. "I'm ready."

The mirror swings open, and Christian, a creature always interested in stage tricks as befitting his profession, nods approvingly. He is quickly more interested, however, in the slim figure standing in the shadows.

She wears a mask, but apart from that, as it steps forward into the light, it is undoubtedly a woman. Christian sighs in relief. He had, at times, feared he had been conversing all along with a very convincing castrato. He is not _that_ into musical theatre, thank you very much. He appraises the woman who has been his tutor thoughtfully. She is unquestionably the Opera Ghost that haunts the theatre; that much is clear from the mask. Dressed in a perfectly fitting gown that clings to her subtle curves - oh, let's be honest, she is a considerably bony slip of a woman. Still, he could grow accustomed to her. Not much chest but well, you only really need a handful. She'd probably gain more if she put on some weight - don't Opera Ghosts eat? All in all, aside from the mask, not a bad looking woman. And those eyes...

"Won't you sit down?" he asks, remembering his manners, gesturing to the sofa. Warily, his tutor obliges, and he plops down next to her, ignoring the way she stiffens as their elbows brush. "It's good to finally meet you in person."

"And you," she replies, a little rusty on the intricacies of polite conversation. He can't take his eyes off her.

"So... you're the Opera Ghost," he segues calmly. She makes a noise of assent.

"Am I that easy for you to fathom, Christian?" He shrugs.

"It's not so hard. You wear a mask, you're as skinny as a rake, but to be honest, you don't look strong enough to kill Joseph Buquet." A faint smile touches the thin lips.

"It was not easy," she admits. "If I'd been born a man, all of this would have been so much easier."

"And if I'd been born a woman I probably would have been terrified of you," Christian replies, leaning back in his chair. Erika's eyes follow the line of his slim hips and broad chest, all the way up to his perfect face. Her hands clench together, desire rising like an excruciating tide.

He smirks a little as she looks away from him, her bright eyes caught by his father's violin case in the corner. That's his tutor, all right, distracted by music even when there's a shockingly good looking young man (if he does say so himself) lounging about in front of her. Still, he's not too worried. He's an expert at this.

Christian Daae can part a girl from her bloomers in ten minutes flat.

"Yes, but if I was a man it would be easier to protect myself," says his tutor, recalling him from his train of thought. Her eyes are once again fixed on him, and to be the sole recipient of those burning, fierce eyes is both a little unnerving and intensely thrilling.

The desire for her body alone melts away, to be replaced by affection. The poor, lonely woman. Living alone and unwanted for so long, down below the Opera because she thought no one would ever love her. Well, maybe he doesn't yet, but he could learn to, easily. She's so delicate and thin, and he does like taking care of people. Usually the girls he... _encounters_ are independent, self-sufficient mademoiselles who can take of themselves and are offended when a man tries to presume to protect them. Oh, he doesn't doubt Erika is capable of protecting herself, but he thinks perhaps she has never had anyone try to do it for her before; that she would find it endearing, rather than offensive.

"I could look out for you," he offers shyly. He's a little surprised. He doesn't do shy, he's brash and he's bold. But this girl is different from all the rest.

"I've never had anyone to protect me before," she murmurs hesitantly. Christian lifts a perfect eyebrow.

"I've never had anyone I wanted to protect before," he admits, wrapping both of his work roughened hands around his tutor's delicate fingers. "Let me take it off," he says, bringing one hand up to fumble at the ties of her mask. Erika's golden eyes close in resignation and weary, tired acceptance.

"If you wish," she sighs, and it only spurs him further.

"Let me see," he murmurs, leaning down to pull the mask gently from her face. Erika cringes, expecting a blow or at the least a gasp of horror. Instead there is just a soft kiss on the hideousness, and then another.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he says quietly, feathering kisses all over the horror that is his tutor's face. In all honesty, he had imagined worse. So she's a little ragged around the edges. She's still human. And he discovers when he pulls her into his arms that her face is easier to bear when her breasts are pressed against his chest and so he scoops her up to get her closer as their lips meet.

Erika for her part is dizzy and utterly confused. All her life she has been rebuffed and reviled, but here is this perfect young man, kissing her monstrous face. "Why...?" she begins, but is cut off as he kisses her lightly on her barely-there nose.

"Hush," Christian whispers in a sing song voice, and she does, melting into his strong arms. "Don't worry," his soft voice croons. "I'll take care of you."


End file.
